All supposed river otter sightings are of algae-slicked cypress knees that snapped off & got caught in an eddy.
The Tractatus Middoth-Philosophicus proposes that whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent, lest one set in motion horrific events which one might witness at a remove that renders them merely unsettling.
A group of 14 crows circulated over me, and I passed two long, thick hanks of black hair caught on a fence & a wall half a mile apart. There are leaves on the ground here & there, but it's a bit early for that sort of festivity.
nightmare Afficher plus
I found an infinitely descending staircase & by exploring it entered the little fiefdom of a psychic murderer who wanted me as his apprentice. I had access to luxury & a degree of unstable, on-his-sufferance mental privacy as long as I continued remotely killing in the world above according to his methodology. There were times in which I drank his champagne & swam in his pool, and times in which I wandered in terrified, disoriented circles as he interfered with my mind. I never saw him.
A brief gash, irrigated with strawberry-infused water & promptly bandaged for later.
If you were to take up a thin, sharp knife & gently slice the short way through a cornichon, & then, upon examining the glassy surfaces thus exposed, find that its seeds form the unmistakable shape of the radioactivity trefoil, that natural variation would be no cause for worry.
In one mood or another, it's very cute that "requite", which for a while mainly meant "avenge", survives almost solely in the sense of returning affection.
Je croyais que j'avais vu une photo de mon oncle dans la rubrique nécrologie, mais en fait c'était Rachid Taha. Annulez la fête.
[I thought I saw a picture of my uncle in the obituaries, but it was just Rachid Taha. Cancel the celebration.]
Fundraiser to install equipment which will facilitate my wiling away more time hung inverted, bat-like. It'd do me good, I'm certain.
minor hand injury Afficher plus
Got my hand caught in the ceiling fan again, as I, a clown, have done at least once a summer since I moved here. I don't usually mind, but this time I've needed to bandage my knuckles, and that's been an inconvenient little flashback hook.
The point of insomniac wakefulness at which the world begins tilting smoothly side to side like a lumberingly massive sailing ship beating windward. Statoconia swaying rhythmically to comfort me.
Above, the tryptopherrule, or sleeper's bit, binding the lulling charge to the tongue.
During the three months I lived in a dorm, two of my roommates made makeshift didgeridoos out of PVC pipe and would start droning at each other whenever they got high.
Temperature dropped precipitously, too, giving me a chance for some intense color/texture coordination. I want summer dead.
The river, meanwhile. A good 7 feet wider than usual and brown with mud.
Pop-up creek. The deer were all out of sorts.
Register swerves, confusions of scale.
Mostly within 30 miles of Philadelphia, but not because of a curse or anything.
Une instance se voulant accueillante pour les personnes queers, féministes et anarchistes ainsi que pour leurs sympathisant·e·s. Nous sommes principalement francophones, mais vous êtes les bienvenu·e·s quelque soit votre langue.